A/N: Okay, I'm back with another chapter of Discovery. I've struggled for a while, thinking people wouldn't be interested in reading stories that started prior to HBP. I've had enough people ask me about it now, that I decided it must be worth finishing.
I'm glad…I love this story. Thanks for all your support.
I've been slacking in my review replies, which is something that I hate, but with school and kids and life, it gets hard to keep up. I do thank each and every one of you for taking the time to review. It truly does mean a great deal to me. I hope you feel compelled to leave more as you continue to read the newest chapters.
Thanks again!
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What He's Missing
Hermione stood before the mail slot, letter to Harry in hand. She was decidedly nervous about mailing it to him and she hesitated to place it in the slot.
She would reach forward to put it in then pull it back to check his address. Reach forward then pull it back to check the postage. Reach forward then pull it back to check that it was properly sealed. Lucky for her, most passerby paid little attention or one might question her mental state, as she had been standing there for nearly fifteen minutes checking and rechecking the letter.
What she hadn't noticed was the man with twinkling eyes who had been silently observing her from nearly twenty feet away. The knowing smile on his face was a sure sign that he was aware of her inner struggle. When Hermione reached forward and pulled back for the umpteenth time the man stopped a young woman in the street and spoke to her briefly, pointing a finger in Hermione's direction.
The woman smiled and walked over to Hermione. "Hello, miss," she said cordially.
Hermione started. The last thing she'd expected was a stranger to address her in such a friendly way. "Oh…uh hello," she stumbled in reply.
"What you got there?" the woman asked, pointing at the letter Hermione held in her hand.
Hermione looked at her as though she'd come from another planet. "Just…just a letter," she replied, trying to keep her voice steady and casual.
"Let's see then," the woman said, reaching forward and taking the letter from Hermione's hand. "Oh, America. Got a friend in America, have you? Never been myself. I hear it's lovely."
Hermione was numb from the shock of it. She tried to reach forward to retrieve the letter or to speak to demand it back, but she couldn't quite fathom that someone had actually walked up and taken it from her hands, and so she stared incredulously for a beat too long.
The woman checked over the envelope, making sure it was exactly as it needed to be, said, "Looks right good," and then placed it in the mail slot. "You've got beautiful handwriting," she said, looking directly at Hermione. "Must be hard writing with a quill like that."
"I…you…why…?" Hermione's shock had turned to fear. There were things in that letter that she wasn't sure she wanted Harry to know right now. Things that would inevitably change the course of their relationship, things she was sure Harry wasn't ready to hear.
"Looked like you were having a bit of trouble," the woman replied casually, "just thought I'd help you along. Hope you don't mind too much. This Harry person must be quite special for you to be so nervous about sending a letter. Whatever was in there, I hope its all worth it in the end."
"That makes two of us," Hermione replied numbly, "and yeah, he is pretty special," she added, walking away feeling terrified and still very much in shock over what had happened.
The woman watched her walk away then turned to the gentleman who had stopped her in the street. He nodded by way of thank you and for a brief moment she felt uneasy, as though she'd broken some sacred code between women. Suddenly a thought broke through her anxiety, love…it was done in the name of love. She walked away hoping that someday she'd see a wedding announcement for Harry Potter and Hermione Granger; she would keep her eyes peeled for it, knowing that she may have played some small part in making it happen.
Hermione walked the distance from the mail slot to her home in a state of shock. Her emotions volleyed back and forth between gratitude, fear, and sheer terror. The anxiety regarding Harry's reaction was already more then she thought she could handle. "Not much I can do now," she mumbled to herself, "'cept maybe hope I got the address wrong," she added with a smirk. With each forward step she took, she could feel herself resigning to the inevitable. She could only hope the fates weren't laughing at her…and that Harry wouldn't either.
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Harry didn't have long to dwell on his thoughts of what would happen when Hermione received his letter and the surprises that accompanied it…most especially the last thing he'd written. The doorbell rang not long after the realization had sunk in. He quickly pulled himself together and walked to the door before the person on the other side decided to ring the bell again.
He gazed through the peephole and saw a young man he didn't recognize standing on his porch. He opened the door cautiously, "Yes?" he asked loudly, opening the door only a couple of inches. "How can I help you?"
"Mr. Potter?" the young man asked hurriedly.
"Yes," Harry replied, opening the door just a bit further.
"Hi, I'm Kevin. I have a delivery for you. Art supplies."
Harry opened the door all the way and stepped forward. "Fantastic," he said excitedly. "Let me help you bring them in."
"Yeah, cool," Kevin replied, a distinct note of gratitude in his voice. "Right over here." He led Harry to his truck and he raised the back door. Inside were a couple of large boxes mixed with a few smaller ones. "Looks like you got quite a load here. What kind of artist are you?"
Harry laughed. "Oh, I'm not an artist," he said lightly.
Kevin looked at him in surprise. "Wow! You got a lot of stuff here for a guy who's not an artist. Are you trying to be an artist?"
"Yeah," Harry said, chuckling softly. "Something like that."
Kevin shrugged his shoulders and pulled out one of the smaller boxes to hand to Harry. "Whatever floats your boat," he remarked off-handedly.
Harry eyed him for a moment and then headed for the house, wondering all the while what 'whatever floats your boat' actually meant. Kevin grabbed a smaller box of his own and followed Harry inside the house.
After a few more trips to the truck, Harry's boxes were unpacked and stacked neatly in a row beside the cupboard he planned to store them in. He thanked Kevin and offered him a tip for his services. "Can't accept that," Kevin said solemnly. "Lose my job accepting tips. 'preciate the offer though." He lowered his head and turned toward the door. Just as he reached the threshold he turned to Harry. "You're a good man," he said thoughtfully, "I can sense it. I got a feeling for stuff like that. Hope this works out for you. Good luck, man."
Harry, slightly taken aback, smiled and said the only thing he could think of, "Thanks, man. That makes two of us."
Kevin chuckled and walked through the door, closing it quietly behind him, and leaving Harry to wonder how it was that so many people could read him like an open book. All his life he'd tried to live up to the images people had of him…he'd struggled to prove that he was a good guy, despite the things that were said about him. And now, he hardly had to speak and people were telling him he was a good man…he couldn't help but to wonder when exactly, things had changed.
They changed when you fell in love, his inner voice interceded.
"I don't even know if I'm in love," Harry responded abruptly. "Now is not the time for thinking. It's the time for putting stuff away…so go away," he added irritably.
Harry began to mumble to himself as he unpacked his supplies. "…do not have time to be thinking about that."
All the time in the world. Nothing but time, matter of fact.
"…stupid voice anyway."
Your voice, Harry. Remember that…
Harry opened one of the larger boxes which held his easel. He pulled out the different parts and stared at them in disbelief. "I have to put this thing together?" he said incredulously.
He debated getting out his wand and putting it together magically. Instead, he walked to the kitchen and checked the drawers for the tools he might need. He found a small toolkit and decided he'd attempt to put it together without the aid of magic.
After ten minutes of turning the directions over and over as he tried to make sense of them he decided to just go for it. A cut on his hand from a slipped screwdriver, more than a few colorful words, and an hour's time, Harry stood back to admire his lopsided easel. "Bloody hell," he muttered, chuckling despite himself. He picked it up and adjusted the legs and set it back down.
Wearily, he gathered up the art paper to lay atop it. When it didn't fall over, he slumped down onto the couch and stared at the blank sheet of paper. The longer he stared at it, the more it seemed to mock him. He walked into the kitchen to fix his lunch and took it with him into the living room so he could stare at the paper longer. "What do you want?" he asked it. "What do I do now?"
When he finished his lunch he set his plate and glass down on the coffee table and decided to busy himself with the rest of his supplies. He pulled out his charcoal, his paints and brushes, and his pens and pencils, arranging them neatly to the side of his easel. His other supplies he placed neatly inside the cupboard he'd chosen, labeling them as he went.
"This isn't going to be easy, is it?" he asked aloud.
He decided to pick up a pencil and to just draw. Whatever comes out is bound to be what's inside, right? He figured.
His pencil made contact with the paper and after what felt like hours, an image finally began to take shape. He wasn't any good at drawing, not really. It was something he'd never excelled at and apparently now wouldn't be an exception for him. He erased and then re-drew, he slapped his hand against the canvas and walked away. He came back to it over and over throughout the course of the evening. In his mind he saw his friend, in his heart he saw a woman. One battled against the other and the result left him less than satisfied.
He was sure that it was Hermione he was staring at when he looked at the picture, but there was something missing. There was something about her eyes that wasn't right and Harry had no idea what it was. He erased and drew them again to no avail.
The eyes are the hardest, his inner voice consoled.
"But they're her eyes," Harry retorted. "They're hers, they're just…wrong."
He carefully removed the picture and laid it on the couch. He walked to his room and grabbed the photo of him, Hermione, and Ron and took it back to the living room with him. "Let's see if I can draw Ron," he mumbled. He took pencil to paper again and drew what better resembled a caricature of Ron and Harry began to laugh. "Have to save this one for him," he said, pulling the sheet from the easel.
He looked down again at the picture he'd drawn of Hermione and he picked it up and held it at eye level. He stared into her eyes and willed himself to discover what was missing. When nothing came, he put the paper back on the easel and decided to take a walk on the beach.
The day was beautiful. He slipped off his shoes, rolled up the bottom of his pants, and walked along the edge of the water. "What is it, Hermione?" he asked, surprising himself in the process. Until he'd spoken aloud, he hadn't even realized he'd been thinking about her. He walked for a while, lost in thoughts until he felt his stomach tighten from hunger. He turned around and headed home, determined to eat and to forget about that damned picture.
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Five days later Harry realized he was obsessed. Every night when he closed his eyes the exact same image of Hermione assaulted him. In it, she was radiant and he could see in her eyes what he'd been missing, but every time he'd awaken and race to his easel, the picture would elude him and he'd be right back where he started.
It was during one such showdown with the paper that the phone rang. He'd barely registered it in the first couple of rings and then raced for it, catching it just as the answering machine did.
"Hello."
"Hi, Harry, this is Tanya. How are you doing?"
"Oh, hi," he said hollowly. "I…I'm doing fine, thanks. You?"
"Not too bad. I just called to wish you a happy birthday," she said enthusiastically. Harry wondered briefly at the excitement in her voice.
"A what?" he asked. "Is it…?"
Tanya laughed. "It's July 31st, your birthday. You didn't realize?"
"Er…no," he stammered. "Guess not. I've been a little preoccupied the past few days."
"Oh, well, in that case, why don't you let me un-preoccupy you and take you out for dinner tonight? My treat."
"Oh…well, um, you don't have to do that," he replied, looking longingly at his now blank canvas and the stacks of attempts he had piled high on the floor next to it.
"I know I don't have to," she laughed. "I want to and I refuse to take no for an answer. I've made us reservations with an ocean view at the Inn at Face Rock. I'll pick you up at 6:45. That gives you, oh, about 4 hours to get ready. See you then."
Harry heard the distinct click of the phone hanging up and he slowly placed his back on the wall. "Dinner with Tanya?" he groaned. He walked back to his canvas and stared at it. His fingers itched to try again. Every attempt thus far had produced the same results and he was determined to get it right. It's all in the eyes, he thought time and again.
He stretched his limbs and decided that rather than get started on another picture, he'd check his mail, grab a bite to eat, and take a walk on the beach to clear his head. He'd hardly done any of those over the past week, determined as he was to get that picture right.
He opened the front door and headed out into the bright sunlight to retrieve his mail. He stopped short when he opened the mailbox. He reached tentatively toward his mail, almost as though he thought it might bite him. Inside he found a box and a letter from Hermione. He retrieved them carefully, his heart pounding hard against his chest.
There wasn't time for her to get yours and send this, his inner voice assured him.
Harry breathed a sigh of relief. Whatever was inside wasn't a letter telling him he was foolish to believe there was anything more between them then friendship. How much more there was he didn't know…but he could no longer deny that there was something- at least on his part.
He stared at his mail as he walked slowly into the house. He sat down on one of the barstools and set her letter on the counter, then carefully began to open the box. When the outer cover was pulled away he found a white box with the words, "For Harry, love Hermione" written in script on the outside. Inside was a short note…
Dear Harry,
I don't know how well your journey is going but I thought this might help you along your way. I hope that it does.
I miss you and I love you. Happy birthday.
Hermione.
Harry looked at the book he pulled out of the box, "The Art of Self-Discovery: How to Find Yourself Through Art."
He opened the book and on the inside cover Hermione had written…
We all have things inside of us that long to be discovered,
The mysteries of life and love we all aim to uncover.
Just know my heart is with you and in the very end,
Regardless of the outcome, I'll always be your friend.
Always,
Hermione
Harry smiled, the smile of someone lost, someone still struggling to find his way. I'll always be your friend. He read her words again. "Is that what I want?" he pondered aloud. "Just to be her friend?"
I think there's more to it than that.
"Me too," he whispered. "Me too."
He looked at the letter that lay on the counter and he took note of the date it was sent…five days ago. The same day his musings had been inadvertently sent to her. "She'll get them today," he said. He felt his panic begin to rise and he took a few deep breaths to calm himself.
Can't do anything about it.
I know…but it doesn't stop me from being scared.
Read her letter.
Harry looked down at it, his finger tracing the place where she'd written her name in the corner. "I can't."
He stood up from his stool and headed out the back door, leaving her letter on the counter. He sat in one of the chairs on his deck and stared out over the ocean. "Bugger," he said, smacking his hand against the table. He stood up to retrieve the letter and then fell back down into the chair before he could take a single step forward. "What is wrong with me?" he asked. "It's just a letter…a letter from my best friend. What is my problem?"
From where he sat he could hear the seagulls calling from overhead. His eyes searched the sky and he watched them swoop and play, landing on the rocks before soaring into the sky again. "I wish I could fly. I wish I could just jump on my broom and leave all of this behind."
He closed his eyes and allowed his imagination to take him in the air. He was soaring high in the sky, swooping down over the water, his toes skimming the top of the waves as he rode. His heart soared in his chest as he rose higher and higher into the sky. A light gleamed above him and for a moment he envisioned it as the Snitch. He reached for it as a foghorn sounded in the distance. He focused his now open eyes and saw a boat far out in the ocean, the sun glinting from the mast. He laughed at the sight of his 'Snitch'.
He walked back into the house, chancing a glance at the letter before he walked down the hallway to his room to shower and dress before Tanya arrived. He could swear the letter was calling to him in Hermione's voice… "It's okay, Harry. Open it."
He spent the next 20 minutes in the shower, letting the water fall over his head in icy sheets. It was invigorating and by the time he got out he was feeling much better. He stepped out of the shower, dried off, and went to the sink to shave, comb his hair, brush his teeth…all of the things he felt he ought to do out of respect for Tanya. When he finished, he went to search his room for clothes to wear. He had little in the way of nice clothes, as he'd assumed he wouldn't be going out much. He chose a pair of dark jeans with a deep, hunter green dress shirt. When he was ready to go, he glanced at the clock…6:23.
"That much time gone already?" he muttered, regretting his lack of argument when Tanya had told him he had no choice.
He walked into the living room and paced the floor. He fingered through his drawings, some of them he'd attempted to draw with charcoal in the hopes that the blurrier version would hide what was missing from her eyes. He set Ron's picture on top…the only one he'd attempted of his best mate the entire week. The rest of the stack was dedicated solely to failed attempts to capture the essence of Hermione.
He walked over to the counter and picked up the book Hermione had sent him. He went to flip through the pages but the book opened to a spot somewhere near the middle where three Muggle pictures of Hermione had been tucked away.
He picked them up with shaky fingers. In the first picture she was sitting on a bench in what Harry assumed to be her parent's backyard. She held a flower in her hand and she was looking down at it, her eyes appeared unfocused as though her thoughts had taken her miles away. He'd never seen her look more beautiful, but her eyes nearly broke his heart. He turned the picture over. The date on the back showed that the picture had been taken little more than a week prior. The caption was written in a hand that Harry didn't recognize. Lost in thought, was all it said.
In the next picture she was sitting on the same bench, smiling widely at the photographer. For all intents and purposes, she looked like a happy young woman, her smile beautiful. But Harry had begun to take a particular interest in her eyes and when he looked there now, he could see that the smile hadn't reached them. There was…an emptiness there. What's going on, Hermione? he wondered as he continued to look down at her.
She misses you.
Harry shook his head. "It has to be more than that."
He turned the picture over and in the same unrecognizable scrawl he read, The smile has gone from your eyes.
Harry nearly choked on the lump that had suddenly lodged itself in his throat.
The third and final picture was one of Hermione lying back on the grass, a picture in her hand. The photo was taken from such an angle that Harry could just make out the picture that he had in his room…the last one taken of the three of them together. Her finger rested on the place where he knew his own picture to be and as he gazed at it, his heart seemed to skip a beat. He turned the photo over, almost scared of what he'd find. In Hermione's all too-familiar writing he found the words…Missing you.
The lump in Harry's throat tightened as he picked up the first picture and lightly touched his finger to her face. "What's happening?" he asked her. "I don't understand this."
Open her letter.
Harry picked up her letter and carefully broke the seal.
With shaking fingers he nervously pulled out the letter. He didn't understand his own apprehension. It made no sense to him at all.
It was mailed the same day as yours; it makes sense to be apprehensive. You've opened your heart to her…inadvertently, granted…but you have. It's alright to be nervous.
He unfolded the letter, the words of his subconscious playing over and over his mind.
Dear Harry,
Hi. I don't really know what to say to you, so I'm just going to let my thoughts flow. Don't mind the scribbles you might find here and there, I don't want to start over and I refuse to use magic to clean it all up. You'll just have to overlook them and forgive me.
I've been talking with my mum tonight. Trying to put things into perspective. What things? You might wonder. Nothing short of life, love, feelings…all of the things that I'm too young and/or naïve to understand. I don't really know if I'm any closer to understanding the truth, but I'm hoping I will soon. Perhaps, if I'm lucky, writing this letter will help.
We spent a lot of time talking about you…talking about me…about us. Us? What us? Is that what you're thinking? I don't know what us, Harry. I wish that I could tell you, but that would require an understanding of things that just don't make any sense right now. I miss you. I want to see you. Just one look, Harry…just one. I think then I'll know…I think then I will start to understand.
Do you miss me? I mean, I know you tell me that you do when we talk on the phone. And sometimes, I think I can really hear it in your voice…and I can feel it in my heart. What I don't know is if I'm hearing and feeling only what I want to hear and feel. Does that even make any sense? Making sense is something I've never struggled with before. But somehow, since you've been gone, nothing makes sense to me anymore.
My thoughts are scattered everywhere. I think back to the past and forward to the future before I can take a single breath. I see you beside me, I feel you pull away. I see it all beginning, I see it all ending…I see it all ending, I see it all beginning. It's all so damned confusing. How is it possible to go through so much of life feeling totally in control of yourself to suddenly have it all turn around and become meaningless nonsense? Everything is jumbled in my head and right now I wonder which way is up.
It's not a good time to write this.
There are things I want to tell you…things I think you should know. But I'm scared. I've never been scared to talk to you, to confide in you. And yet…now I am frightened beyond comprehension. I wish I could explain it. I wish I could just come out and say it…that I could just make it all make sense. I don't know how you feel. I don't know if I'm going insane. I don't know if anything is real anymore. You've been gone for so long…forever it seems.
Bloody hell, Harry, when are you coming back to me? I never knew I could miss someone so much.
I need to walk away from this…just like you walked away from me. I'm sorry. You didn't deserve that. I'll be back…I think I need some air.
I'm sorry, Harry. This is just…it's difficult. I think I'm
"Damnit," Harry cursed, the persistent doorbell drawing him away from the letter. Three times it rang and he couldn't ignore it any longer. He set the letter on the counter and walked quickly to the door, pulling it open in a huff.
"Hi, Harry," Tanya said, smiling happily at him from where she stood on the other side of the door. "6:45, are you about ready?"
"Oh, er, yeah," he mumbled. He stepped to the side and gestured with his hand. "Just um, come on in. I'll be ready in a minute."
Tanya stepped inside and looked around. Everywhere she looked around the living room she saw art paper and supplies. "You've been busy," she said, walking around.
Harry followed her gaze. "Yeah, I suppose," he said, fidgeting slightly at Tanya's obvious interest in his art. He walked over to the letter and picked it up; he folded it and held it in his hand with the envelope.
Meanwhile, Tanya walked toward the stack of papers with the drawing of Ron on top. "Oh!" she suddenly cried out. "How cute."
Harry started and walked quickly to stand beside her. "Cute? What's cute?" he asked abruptly.
"You like that guy from MAD magazine, too," she said, pointing to Ron's picture. "That's a really good likeness right there."
"That's my best friend Ron," Harry stated blankly. "Doesn't look a lot like him, but it's close, I suppose. What's MAD magazine anyway?"
"Never mind," Tanya replied, rolling her eyes at her own stupidity. "It's nothing."
"Okay," Harry said, shrugging his shoulders. "I'm just gonna get my coat," he said, pointing down the hallway. "I'll be right back." He walked quickly down the hall and closed his bedroom door. He unfolded the letter he held in his hand. He just needed to finish that last sentence.
I'm sorry, Harry. This is just…it's difficult. I think I'm falling, Harry. And I don't know how to stop myself. I can't make it stop.
"Falling? Falling how?" he wondered aloud. He heard a noise from down the hall and he quickly grabbed his coat. "This better not take long," he said, gazing at the letter and envelope he'd tossed on his bed.
When Harry walked into the living room he saw Tanya standing beside the counter, looking down at something lying there. He stopped dead in his tracks when he saw what it was. She was staring at the pictures of Hermione he'd left lying on top of his book.
She started when she heard him approach. "Is this her?" she asked, looking from Harry to the pictures.
Harry nodded, unable to speak as he closed the distance between them.
"She's beautiful," Tanya said, looking from Hermione to Harry. "What's wrong with her?"
Harry shook his head, not understanding the question at all. "Wrong?"
"She's not happy. Look," she said, pointing at Hermione's eyes, "if she was really happy, you'd see a spark in there. She looks so sad."
Harry picked up the picture and stared at it for a moment. "Could you excuse me?" he said, looking up at Tanya. "I'll be right back." He walked quickly back to his room and picked up the picture of him and Hermione he had sitting there.
…if she was really happy, you'd see a spark in there. She looks so sad.
Harry looked at the picture and immediately he saw the spark…the twinkle in her eyes that he'd been looking for all week. "What puts that sparkle there?" he asked, watching as she glanced up at him, laid her head against his chest, wrapped her arms around him, and then closed her eyes.
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It was Harry's birthday and Hermione sat on the window seat in her room, staring unseeingly out the window and thinking about him. She wondered if he'd gotten her gift. If so, she hoped he liked it and that it would of some help to him. Since she couldn't be there to help him personally, she had to do it as best she could from thousands of miles away.
The knock on the door seemed to come from miles away and she easily ignored it. She didn't want to think about anyone else right now. It was time for thinking about Harry…time for wondering how he would react to the letter she- well, someone anyway…had sent to him. She'd fretted all week about that mystery woman who took her letter from her hand and placed it in the mail slot. She wondered how much of her life that moment in time cost her. She was sure that Harry didn't feel the same way she did and now she was almost sure he'd never want to talk to her again.
She wanted to call him. To let him hear her wish him a happy birthday, but she'd held herself back. She was counting on her gift getting there in time so he'd know she was thinking about him.
The knock sounded again. "Yeah?" she called out reluctantly.
The door opened slowly and her mum stepped into the room. "You ready to eat yet, honey?" she asked gently. "You've hardly eaten all week."
Hermione continued to look out the window as she shook her head. "No," she said quietly, "not hungry."
Her mum took a few steps toward her. "It's not good for you to not eat, sweetheart. I'm worried about you."
"I'm fine," she responded in that same quiet, hollow voice.
"This came for you today," her mum said, holding an envelope out to her. "It's from Harry."
Hermione's head jerked up and she glanced hopefully from the letter to her mum.
Her mum shook it in her direction. "Take it," she said, chuckling softly. "I don't think it bites."
Hermione reached a tentative hand forward and took the letter from her mum's hand. "Thank you," she said, her voice suddenly hoarse as she struggled around the knot in her throat.
"You're welcome," her mum replied, combing her fingers through Hermione's hair. "Come and eat soon?" she pleaded.
"Soon."
Her mum kissed the top of her head and nodded. She looked back once before she stepped out the door. "We love you, sweetheart."
Hermione smiled. "I know. I love you, too."
Her mum walked through the door and closed it quietly behind her.
With shaking fingers Hermione carefully opened the envelope. She pulled out the letter for Ron and tossed it to her bed. Next, she pulled out the many pages of her own letter.
"What is all this?" she asked aloud. "Harry couldn't write this much."
She began to rifle through the pages and wondered at how she could still be conscious when it was apparent to her that her heart had stopped beating.
The tears began to well in her eyes and it was impossible for her to stop their flow as she began to read his words…
Thoughts about Hermione: a first attempt at sorting them out.
They say you're always welcome at home. That's how I always knew that the Dursley's was never really where I belonged. That only leaves two places for me now. The Burrow...and anywhere you are. I know I'm always welcome at Hogwarts, but Hogwarts could never be a home without you there. So now I wonder, where would my home be tonight? Are you curled up in your bed? Sleeping peacefully, as you wait for a new day to begin? Or have you gone somewhere else tonight? Wherever you are, I am with you. Can you feel me?
Do you know how much I miss you? It's painful for me to know that I can't be there to comfort you when now is when you likely need me most. You've always been my source of strength, but I know I need to learn to be my own source. I'm working on that, but it doesn't ease the pain that always seems to accompany my thoughts of you.
The sun will soon be rising where you are and I wonder…will you see the same colors in your rising sun that I see in mine as it sets? As you awaken and the world around you is welcoming the sounds of a brand new day, my world begins to sleep, welcoming the quiet sounds of the night. As your dreaming ends, mine begins. Will my dream start where yours ended? Is it possible for us to share one dream with so many miles between us?
The sun rises for you as it sets for me. But for a while, a few short hours, I look up at the moonlit sky and I am at peace. Everything feels right the moment I remember...the moon I am awed by at this very moment is the same moon you watched rise just a few short hours ago. I am reassured by the sight of it that you are never truly far from me. Miles mean nothing when we share the same sun, moon, and stars.
Again, I wonder...
Are we thinking the same thing as we cast our eyes toward the heavens?
I'm scared, Hermione. It's only been a couple of days and I'm already wondering how I'm going to make it without you. Is this what love feels like? Is it the pain in my chest that overwhelms me when I think about you, or is that only there because I miss you? In seven years I've never been happy when I've had to be away from you. Why am I just now realizing that? This isn't what I wanted. It's not what I'm looking for. I can't ever tell you.
This can't be love, it hurts too damn much and it's too confusing. It must be the dreams I've been having…it's all just too much for me right now. If only I could talk to you about it. No one understands me quite like you do.
"Oh, Harry," she sighed through her tears. "What are we going to do? What does all of this mean?"